Forgotten Realms We Did It For The Money

It was a sad state of affairs, really, what happened to Lorelei Windrider. Once from one of the most powerful and rich houses in Waterdeep, she was now in more than one majorly bad situation. First and foremost, the untimely death of her parents had left her siblings - two older sisters and a younger brother - buried in a veritable mountain of debt. In fact, it was this very mountain of debt that had lead her to be stuck in her presently more life-threatening situation. After all, running for one's life from a small troop of orcs, around eight in number, was rarely considered a good state to be in.

'Today must definitely be one of my off days; usually they just tend to ignore me if I'm anywhere near them.' She thought bitterly, hightailing it as fast as she could and scrambling up one of the orcish ritual poles, which were generally reserved by the shamans to worship their god, Gruumsh. Once she had herself situated as best she could, Lorelei began throwing some small knives she had in her possession, intending on at least wounding her pursuers in the hopes they wouldn't be able to catch up to her position as quickly, thus giving her a chance to breathe and reconsider her options.

Now that she thought about it, she really hadn't picked the best route; after all, she had gone running straight through the middle of the orc camp. All this had started with a simple errand, delivering a package for someone who said he was running behind. It was supposed to just be a simple task; take the parcel to Protector's Enclave, deliver it, and get paid. Simple as simple could be. But no, she had to go and attract the attention of an orc hunting party, and it didn't help her defense that she hadn't even tried to sneak by. It just had to be the one time she didn't bother with stealth, and it was coming to haunt her sooner than she could have ever hoped or imagined it would.

"How am I going to get out of this one?!" She growled to herself, looking about for a way out of this mess. She knew she wasn't strong enough to compete against all eight of her pursuers; she just couldn't. Her only way out of this mess was a miracle, or something very close to it.

And then, before she even had a chance to utter a prayer, it happened. A flurry of arrows hurtled forth from behind the orcs, dropping four on the spot and sending the remaining four into confused disarray. "What was that?!"

"It came from behind us!"

"Who shot at us?!"

Another arrow flew, another orc dropping like the quarry of a master hunter. One shot, one kill. The biggest of the orcs growled as he turned his beady eyes towards where the latest arrow flew from. "Find the archer! Kill him! Sacrifice for Gruumsh!"

The trio set off at once, each growling and cursing angrily as they surged on, away from Lorelei's position... the middle orc falling as another arrow flew, this time to their left, and found its mark in the side of his head. The remaining orcs skidded to a stop and turned, both looking around with wild rage and fury as they tried to figure out who was responsible for the chaos stirred from their previous advantage over Lorelei.

With a low thrum, the sound of a bowstring twanging back from being drawn could be heard, another arrow catching one of the orcs square in the chest and dropping him where he stood. One remained; the largest, and now blatantly infuriated, hunting party leader. "Where are you, coward?!" He bellowed, mind focused solely on finding the mysterious bowman that had so easily dwindled the troop's numbers down. "Show yourself! I want to see the pain in your eyes when your blood is given to Gruumsh!"

He didn't get an answer, predictably. Not an audible one. His anger only boiled hotter as he turned, staring around him and opening his mouth to shout more curses... only to give a strangled choke as an arrow struck him in the back, near the base of his neck. Dropping to his knees, the falling orc only had enough time to turn and catch a glimpse of his killer before he lay dead on the ground, a look of alarm and shock eternally posing his now lifeless face.

A couple seconds later, the bowman made his presence known. A deep green hood was pulled up over his head, a mask and face cover concealing any facial features from view as he silently moved forward, his olive-clad frame appearing poised and ready for any surprises or would-be attackers. Barely sparing a glance to Lorelei as he retrieved his arrows, he acted almost as though he hadn't seen her at all, only acknowledging her as he turned his head just enough to look up at her. All she would be able to see of his face were his eyes, virtually glowing against the dark colors of his concealing attire. One was a rich and bright red, the shade of rubies when viewed in direct sunlight, whilst the other was lavender, almost too dark to be called as such, holding what could only be described as either no emotion, or too complex an emotion to be read.

This mysterious bowman only watched Lorelei for a couple seconds, studying her silently before turning and walking away, sticking to the shadows for the obvious reason of being harder to spot.

Lorelei managed to smile gratefully at the bowman, though not knowing if he'd really noticed or cared. Her appreciation for his aiding her in her time of blatant need would've been obvious to all, and justly so considering what had transpired. However, in spite of her gratitude, she was rather curious; after all, she hadn't really seen anyone like him up close, save for her trips to Protector's Enclave, and on occasion when she was running errands or delivering messages for Sergeant Knox. Sighing as the stranger - likely a ranger or some other form of woodland wanderer judging by his garb - left, the half-elf clambered down off the somewhat makeshift looking totem and inspected the package she carried with her, relieved to find that, in spite of the recent activities, it was still quite intact and unharmed. With this triumph in mind, as well as a mental note to be much more careful, Lorelei set off again, making sure to move much more quietly around and near the orc camps that dotted the ruins that had once made up the Tower District.

'I'm definitely going to need to pray to the Goddess of Luck when I get a good chance,' she thought, laughing faintly as she entered one of the small areas within the district that were still under Lord Neverember's control. 'As well as Selune.'

Once she'd reached Protector's Enclave, however, she felt the niggling of curiosity poking at the back of her mind, gnawing at her other thoughts as though fighting for mental dominance. It lead her to ask one of the merchants if she knew anything about a mysterious ranger, one that may have mentioned going to or coming from that area. Unfortunately, the woman knew nothing of the topic, leading Lorelei to give a quiet sigh at the minor defeat, and re-contemplate her options, realizing she'd probably get better luck asking the other townsfolk rather than the merchants, as it would be easier for someone who didn't deal with other people every day to remember things such as unusual people and where they may have said they would be going.

After making her delivery and receiving her payment, Lorelei decided that this would likely be a good time to get a good strong drink to aid in washing the stress from her day out of her system, and nothing could do that quite like a special - and perhaps costly - brand of mead made in Waterdeep. A short time later found Lorelei in the Driftwood Tavern, enjoying her liquor and inquiring more about rangers that may have passed through, though again she was disappointed to learn that nobody, not even the bartender, seemed to know anything about the man she was trying so hard to discover the whereabouts of. This was making it rather hard to track him down and thank him, she noted, though she didn't give up; she would find him again, and thank him when she did. At the time though, her mead was starting to hit her system, causing her body to demand that she get some rest. As such, she set off for the inn she'd rented a room at, her thoughts straying this way and that while she tried to focus on preparations for another day of journeying destined to happen the following day.

When she got to the room, however, and had gotten her things sorted, body cleaned, armor set aside, and clothes changed for bed, she discovered that the adrenaline rush of the earlier hours was causing her mind to reel back to the events that'd taken place earlier that day, playing them over in her mind as she got into bed and stared at the wall ahead of her, oblivious to the goings on of the world outside her slightly open window. However, even as she lay there trying to relax, she found herself besieged by a feeling she was far from happy about; the feeling that digs at the pit of one's stomach, niggling at them, telling them they were being watched. The sensation made her skin crawl, and as she focused more on the sensation, she heard the faint shifting of the window frame, telling her plainly that it was being slowly opened. Lorelei's hand went to the dagger under her pillow, clutching the handle tightly. This really wasn't turning out to be a good day...

oo0oo

The old crypt was dank and dark, wet enough to make anything and anyone almost clammy, and make it just difficult enough to light an unused torch that it would make a person simply want to give up on ever getting it lit by the time it was actually burning. The silence of the tomb was hardly broken, only interrupted by the faint scurrying of a mouse or eerie creak of a reanimated skeleton's bones. It was not a place that many would want to go, not willingly, which was exactly why the Blackdagger bandits chose to situate themselves there. After all, who in their right mind would try to navigate a decrepit, trap-laden, zombie and spider infested hole like this, just to try and capture or kill Traven Blackdagger?

His footfalls were as silent as the grave he tread through, cloak not even making the slightest of rustles as he proceeded, silent as the shadows themselves. Nobody knew he was coming. Nobody that was still alive at least. Several bandits and several undead had already met their end, most not even knowing it was upon them until it was too late. There was no light to betray his location to them; he didn't need light when he had infrared vision to tell him where to go. He didn't need light to tell him anything when he had grown up without it.

The hidden one paused at the mouth of a new corridor, his keen eyes glowing softly as he watched for danger. The faint traces of heat on the floor told it all; two more bandits up ahead, accompanied by what was unmistakably a gnoll. A wicked little grin tugged at his lips. He liked killing gnolls. They were always more challenging to sneak around, and harder to stab in the back. Naturally, the hyena man would have to die first. The more time it had to make noise or some other form of alert, the more dangerous this adventure would become, and the hunter had no desire for more danger. Things were already a risky enough gamble as it was.

Soon the gnoll was in sight, its scruffy, black and grey hair somewhat matted, clotted in places by dirt and blood that likely didn't belong to it. Red cloth - rags perhaps would be the correct term - hung off the gnoll's frame, likely an attempt at clothing, which was effective enough for its purposes, though it provided very little by means of armor or other protection. This could prove both good as well as bad. On one hand, little to no armor would mean it would be easier to drop the gnoll quietly and avoid unwanted attention. On the other, however, having no armor would mean that it could move and react a lot more quickly, something that could come back to bite the hunter later if he wasn't exceedingly cautious.

After some careful debating of what should be done, the hunter readied his bow, knocking an arrow and carefully taking aim. He would need to make this a perfect shot if he was going to remain anonymous and hidden from the other bandits, and at this point he couldn't risk exposure. Not yet. A determined, focused look glittered in the hunter's glowing eyes as he confirmed his shot and let fly his arrow, driving it home through the gnoll's neck. He darted forward as fast as a shadow, bracing himself and letting the corpse fall on him rather than straight to the floor. The weight of the gnoll nearly knocked him flat, though the hunter remained on his feet, straining his muscles as he carefully and quietly lowered the body to the floor, where he proceeded to pick off any valuables he may have been able to locate. Satisfied with his findings - a few copper pieces and a silver necklace that was probably picked from the body of some unfortunate merchant - and the lack of sound he made, the silent one continued on, making short work of the remaining two bandits.

His progress led him to a portcullis deep in the depths of the crypt, and he knew simply by the voices coming from within that he had reached the final destination of his journey. Frowning, he leaned around the corner to peer into the chamber. At least five well-armed bandits were within, discussing some nefarious scheme with their leader. Seated on a surprisingly regal looking throne, and dressed to the nines - if not further - was the bandit leader, Traven Blackdagger, who appeared utterly unaware of the fact he was being watched by someone with every intention of killing him. His only problem would be dealing with Traven before more bandits would be called down to get rid of him. There was no way to avoid open combat here; it was make or break, and avoiding being harmed in this fight was likely an impossibility. With nothing for it, the hunter silently drew in a deep breath, letting it out before pulling the lever and striding through the doorway, into plain view of the now alert and watching bandits. "Who the bloody hell are you?" Traven demanded, glowering at the hooded one in rage. "And how did you get in here?!"

The hunter merely stared back at the warlord with seemingly emotionless eyes. He had no love for bandits, especially Traven and those like him. Those who enjoyed murder, thievery, and other less-than-savory deeds that left decent folk cringing at the mere thought of. Showing no sign of fear, the hooded one moved closer, hands still resting on his blades, but not moving to initiate the attack.

"Don't just stand there you idiots, get him!" Traven bellowed, glowering at his subordinates as they moved to intercept. The hunter drew his blades at the last moment, dodging around one of his attackers, driving his elbow home in the small of their back before striking out at the second of the five. Blades flashed in the torchlight as he skillfully blocked the overhand slash of his opponent, countering with his second blade and leaving the bandit in a steadily growing pool of crimson. The third met a similar fate, the fourth wising up to the foolishness of charging blindly at the mysterious hunter. He fell back a few paces, studying the ranger before noticing something going on behind him and giving a smirk.

It was that smirk that doomed the first bandit. Having recovered from being knocked over, he was charging in from behind, ready to stab the hunter in the back... only to have the hooded one nimbly sidestep, slashing at his back and leaving a deep wound. Even while this happened, the fifth had moved to try and attack... only to find himself impaled on his now dying comrade's sword. They dropped to their knees, getting pushed aside lazily by the hooded one as he continued towards Traven. The warlord scowled, drawing his blade and moving to engage in combat. He was a lot more careful about his strikes, even drawing a knife as a secondary before slashing at the hunter. The attack was blocked, as was the hooded one's counter to it. For what felt like hours, the pair circled, lashing out and blocking, countering and reencountering, an endless dance where one misstep would spell disaster.

It was Traven who broke the monotony. He threw down a smoke pellet and withdrew from the growing cloud, smirking darkly as he waited for the hunter to stumble and fall. Surely it wouldn't be long before the strange figure succumbed to clumsiness... But this misjudge of outcome lead Traven to find himself choking and gasping, eyes wide as he stared in alarm at the blade now protruding from his gut. "H-how..." He choked, spitting out blood as he slowly sank to his knees.

A cold, merciless voice whispered a response in his ear. "Did you really think you could outrun death forever?" The hunter withdrew his blade, pushing Traven off the front of it with his boot before wiping it on the dying man's jacket. He paid no mind to the death throes of the bandit warlord as he moved for the secret passage that would lead him to the surface. He also cared little for any of the loot he would find in the chamber; most of it was likely stolen from someone else, and the hunter had no desire to keep stolen treasure.

It was quite some time before he finally returned to Protector's Enclave, slipping through its presently dark streets like a shadow and eventually reaching the floating paradise known as Moonstone Mask. Generally as a rule, he disliked the poshness of the place, but he knew his contractor preferred such luxurious surroundings, and as such was willing to put up with it as long as he had to in order to get his money. Lucky for him, he didn't have to wait long in order to do so, and in short order was on his way again, this time headed for the Driftwood Tavern. It was far less impressive than Moonstone Mask, he was well aware, though it suited him far better. In a matter of mere minutes he had a room, a warm meal, and was happily locked in the former, setting about getting ready to equally enjoy the latter. He took his face mask off, his ebon skin a stark contrast to the pearly white hair that cascaded loosely down about his shoulders as his hood slid off. He cared little if his appearance was revealed now; nobody was getting in his room without his allowance of it, and it would remain so through the night. A short time later found him dressed down to little more than his undergarments, and relaxing in bed, allowing himself to drift into a light, uneasy sleep, his hand gripping the dagger under his pillow, and his swords - as they always were - easily within reach.

oo0oo

Lorelei's fingers tightened around the dagger under her pillow when she heard the sound of the window being raised. Oh, it made her want to shiver; the sensation of night's icy fingers tickling down the collar of her shirt and chilling her skin.

Unbeknownst to the current assassin— for what else would dare crawl into her window at night— she continued to trace his steps, mind racing in order to catch up to the sound of them. They were heavier than hers, drawing her to the conclusion that her unwanted guest was male. Listening for any other sounds, she heard what could be considered heavy, cloth-like material rubbing against itself softly, making her also presume the opponent wore leather armor of some sort.

"Found you…" The now-proven male attacker whispered, a blood-chilling purr lacing his hushed voice. She nearly laughed; was he truly so arrogant as to assume she was deeply asleep? However, she forced herself to remain silent; alerting him to her wakefulness wouldn't aid her in the slightest margin.

He was in for quite the surprise, as he found himself facing her dagger when he grasped her shoulder and turned her towards him. She had just a fraction of a second to slash at his arm, grazing it and allowing her to jump from her bed. She rolled behind him, but somehow the attacker expected this as though he knew of her training. He caught her by the neck as she came up from the roll, slamming her roughly into the back of the neighboring wall. A quick and strangled cry clawed out of her as she fought to keep consciousness, as well as pry the gloved fingers from her neck. Her dagger in hand, she tried raising her arm, the low oxygen cutting her off. Lorelei always held her breath when she rolled, and it was also coming around to haunt her sooner rather than later. Damn all the luck! Once again she found herself needing some sort of divine intervention…

She didn't have to wait long. It seemed that, within mere moments of her being slammed against the wall, her own door was forced open, a tall, dark figure, his hair starkly contrasting with the shadows around him due to its silver-white hue. A dagger was clenched tight in his own hand, the blade curved and wicked, glittering with strange, otherworldly runes that seemed to pulse with anticipation for battle. With little more warning than the door bursting open, the dark threw his blade at the assassin... who - surprised and not ready for this sudden interruption - had turned just in time to catch the weapon in the chest. Gasping and choking, he dropped Lorelei to the floor only moments before he collapsed, sprawled on his back and struggling for his escaping breaths as his attire was stained crimson. It didn't take him much longer before he died, his expression frozen in pained shock as he now lay motionless on the floorboards.

The dark one merely watched as the assassin died, expression emotionless and eyes void of remorse as he silently drew nearer the corpse. Scarce paying Lorelei even the slightest of looks, the drow - for what other race had skin that dark, and hair that pale? - pulled his dagger free of the body, lazily wiping the blood off on the assassin's pant leg before he stood, gave Lorelei the slightest of nods, and then turned to leave the room, each movement as silent as the shadows around him.

Lorelei fell to the floor, clutching the front of her shirt to pry it away from her skin as she coughed horrendously, body heaving as she shook her head trying to regain the oxygen lost. As she sighed, she looked up at the figure, which she could identify also as male and as… drow? Why on this plane of existence a drow bother to help her?! Most wanted to see the surface-dwellers hung and tied for little more than breathing the wrong way. She managed to choke out a sentence to him as he approached.

"Thank you… but, why?" Her question proving all that mattered as she coughed again, throat raw and sore with good reason as she then attempted to stand, leaning back against one of the chairs and groaning once more whilst flinging the coppery mess that was her hair out of her face and over her shoulder.

The drow paused when she spoke, turning just enough to look back at her over his shoulder. He studied her for a moment before snorting faintly, as if his answer was an obvious one. "He woke me up." He didn't continue to leave, however, lingering as though waiting to see if she would say anything else. His grasp of the commontongue was surprising, as though he had been speaking it his entire life, though still bearing an accent that would undoubtedly been foreign to the ears of surface-dwellers.

She blinked yet again and opened her mouth as if to say something before closing it and shaking her head. She'd said her thanks and she'd gotten her answers, even if they weren't quite what she'd expected.

"You may be on your way out." She dismissed him then and knelt onto the body searching for blood money as she knew that was why the dead man was in her room. She looked more so and found a promising sum and a note around the bag.

Upon reading the hand-scrawled note she swore worse than some of the pirates the drow may have heard of. She then crumpled it and took the money.

"That's my money as it stands now isn't it sisters." She snapped quite angrily. She'd let those who wrote the note assume she was dead; who was she to crush their hopes and dreams? No she was much kinder than that at this moment.

The drow seemed more than satisfied to excuse himself, and as such he left without another word, though after a little while - in the middle of Lorelei's cursing and grumbling - she may have heard what sounded oddly like a boot bouncing off the other side of the wall. It seemed the dark elf was in the next room over, and likely could hear her complaints. Needless to say, if he had killed the assassin over waking him up, there was no real knowing what he would do if Lorelei kept him from falling asleep again.

Lorelei sighed at this point, rolling her eyes and calling through the wooden wall.

"I know, I know, I'm just shifting rooms as we speak no way in hell am I sleeping here with a dead corpse."

She then thumped back to make sure he got the message before getting her stuff, searching for her set of lock picks and door jimmies, plus the doohickeys that allowed her to do all her thievery and the like. Once she'd gotten those she decided to grab her stuff and walk to a vacant room, pick the lock, and then continued to move her stuff through. She unpacked in there opened the window to air out the mustiness, slipped into that bed, and fell asleep.

Come next morning, Lorelei sat wondering why she was in a different room before remembering the bloody corpse in the last one. "Ahhhh right, now it's all suddenly coming back to me." She sighed, stretched, rolled casually on out of her bed dressing in the rest of her clothing and donning her armor.

She walked outside the room and downstairs - hair in the braid she kept it in for sleep - and poked her head out to the tavern owner. "I'm going to apologize now for the bloody corpse in my old room; the bastard there tried to kill me and I was rescued by a person. They saved me. Oh, and if you don't believe me here's my neck." She said showing him all her neck with the handprint bruises. "I will pay you extra please do not be concerned alright." She hoped they wouldn't freak out like the last tavern this happened to her in.

The innkeeper stared at her in alarmed surprise. "Beg pardon?" He asked, sounding rather startled. "Some lout tried killing you last night? Did ya get a glimpse o' who saved you? Any idea who your attacker was?" By the sounds of it, people getting killed in the tavern wasn't entirely new. Not really frequent, but not new.

"Whoever saved you must've been here already," he continued on. "or at the very least followed whoever attacked you. "Was awful nice of 'em to pop in and rescue you like that." He then paused, distracted by a figure moving somewhere behind Lorelei. "Ah, there ya are, Sylvan. I was hopin' to have a word with you at some point."

There was a pause before a cloaked figure - a ranger judging by his rugged and versatile apparel, as well as the bow and quiver he carried - walked over, each move so quite they were scarce heard. "What was it about?" He asked quietly, his voice husky and hard to make out.

"Was just curious 'bout your last run to the Tower District is all." The innkeeper confessed. "But I reckon you're busy so I'll just catcha some other day."

The ranger gave a small nod, a bow of his head, and then turned, sweeping off and a way without another word or sound, and not a single glance at Lorelei, as though he hadn't seen her or had chosen to pretend she wasn't there.

... But wasn't he the ranger that saved her when she was in the Tower District? It certainly looked to be the same person, though considering the hood and mask, it really could've been anyone. Nothing of his skin was even visible beneath his attire, and his eyes had been shadowed by his hood, preventing any eye color from being made out.

Once the ranger - Sylvan, if what the innkeeper said was correct - had left, the man turned his attention back to Lorelei. "Sorry 'bout that, just wanted to try and catch 'im before he left. Feel free to tell me more 'bout what happened last night; I'm rather curious as to what all went down without my knowin' it."

Lorelei sighed and then nodded explaining what had happened. "I know, but I have no idea who the person was, they came in quickly, they killed him with some weapon, and I was left gasping with a headache. Whoever they are, though, I'm very grateful." She smiled a bit at that showing she did appreciate the help.

"And yes, the person was hired to kill me I have no reason as to why though I haven't done anything bad." She then shrugged it off, as was the way of the hero.

She then placed some extra coins in the tavern owner's hand so that he was well paid, and could dispose of the corpse properly. When he spoke to the ranger, she saw and recognized him to be the same one whom saved her back in the Tower District. That caused her to almost trip over the bar stool, then and there before clearing her sore throat and racing after him, apologizing to the man behind the counter as she ran for the ranger following him outside Driftwood Inn.


End file.

Forgotten Realms, Adventure, Humor